


Sterile

by jencsi



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:14:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28176741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jencsi/pseuds/jencsi
Summary: Not everything can be cleaned.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	Sterile

It’s midnight and she’s on her hands and knees, scrubbing vigorously on the polished floor of her condo. She started around ten at night, forced awake by another nightmare, left kicking at her covers, clawing at sheets and pillows, whimpering into the empty space of her room. No ones there, a harsh voice enters her subconscious, you’re all alone. She bit the inside of her cheek trying to stifle her cries but that only drew blood. The images of the crimson liquid invaded her aching restless mind. She envisioned not only crime scenes she had processed over the years, but a terrifying thought made her sit up fast, heart racing. 

She flung herself out of her bed and padded barefoot into the kitchen where she scoured for a bucket, filling it with warm soapy water, rubbing her eyes as she waited for it to fill under the faucet. She gathered a scrub brush meant for deep cleaning and got to work, sinking down to the hardwood floor of her entryway, working one section at a time, she scrubbed, hard, pushing the soapy brush into the ground, over and over, searching for traces of what she dreaded but knew was there; blood. Her own blood left by the monster who attacked her months ago and left her with these restless nights, among other traumas. 

Despite Russell’s insistence that the place had been properly cleaned in March, she could not shake the sense of lingering specks of blood, tiny droplets in the framework, embedded in the grooves of the wood, hiding there, a reminder of what happened to her. The insane drive to rid the place of any leftovers from that day took over and she lost control of her own mind. 

Repeatedly, she dunked her hands into the bucket of warm water, picking up more soapy liquid and splashing it onto the floor. Scrub, push, up and down, left and right, over and over. She scooted herself back further and further into her condo space as she worked from the entryway to the foyer to the space in front of the kitchen island where she fell after he hit her one too many times. She maneuvered back to the sofa area where the rugs were and scrubbed those too. 

Her mind wandered to each spot; that’s where he pushed me, that’s where he pulled my hair, that’s where I hit my knee, each push of the brush on a surface represented each blow to her head or body, wherever he felt like inflicting pain next. 

She sobbed as she worked, scratching her nails on the surface of the floor, the warm water leaving red marks on her hands, the force of which she scrubbed with leaving scratches and welts on her palms. Her knees scrape as they drag bare across the wood floor. Her ankles want to give out on her in the awkward position she squats in but she fights the urge. She inflicted this pain on herself because it was all she knew for the last few months. From physical therapy, to nightmares, to headaches, this was all his fault and she could not shake his hold on her. 

A knock at her front door makes her gasp in surprise and stare at the door teary eyed. She shuffles over to it, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt. When she answers it, she discovers her downstairs neighbor looking cross. She demands to know what the racket is and Finn sheepishly apologizes for her aggressive cleaning. When the neighbor leaves, Finn turns back to her work, scooping up the brush and throwing it at the wall. It doesn’t dent which means she’s not as strong as she used to be and it guts her. She abandons the bucket and shuffles back into her room. She kicks the door shut and falls onto the bed, sobbing into her pillows again, just like the night before. 

The pain in her chest at feeling so terribly alone yet fearful of being around others in her current mental state has a hold on her so tight, she can feel it’s constricting pressure causing an ache. She curls up and bites her lip, hating every sob that leaves her broken body. But this is her life now. She can hide all she wants but she won’t escape it. It seeps under her skin and into her brain just like the blood seeping into the floor that night. Winthrop took more from her than he probably wanted to but as she pictures him in his cell in Ely, smirking away, knowing she’s awake and in pain, she can’t help but think, deep down, he got exactly what he wanted.


End file.
